Prelude to Darkness
by stretched rubbersoul
Summary: Two women, equally different in too many ways. But they hold one thing in common. They are being held captaive by Jack Sparrow himself. Only their guiling ways can help them out of it, or do they want to?
1. Prelude to Darkness

Prelude to Darkness

"Fetch me some hot water! Find something warm for the babe. If its born alive, it must be kept from drafts and chills!" Abigail Melody Hampton shouted at the already harassed maid. She nodded and ran out of the room quickly.

"If it lives..." Gasped the woman in labor. Abigail looked over the woman's swollen belly and into the face of her sister, Arabella Page.

"Of course it will live, Bella." Abigail said happily. She closed her eyes for a moment, the sight of her beloved elder sister writhing in pain and weariness affecting her greatly. She opened them as the maid came back in, a basin of water in one hand, and warm drying sheets in the other.

"Set them down!" Abigail demanded, then pulled up the sheet once again to check on her sisters condition. It wasn't right. She was too big, too fast. The baby was just barely eight months in the womb. There was still a chance though...

"Abbie?" Arabella croaked, after a particularly nasty contraction wiped her last bit of energy.

"Yes, dear?" Abigail abandoned her post at the woman's feet, and went to kneel besides Arabella.

"If I should die, will you take care of my baby, please?" She tried to say more, but her younger sister shushed her.

"Don't speak. Save your energy. But to appease you...yes, I will. But your baby will grow up to be strong!" Before she could finish her tirade of encouragement, the maid gave a hearty shriek, and Abigail threw herself back to the position at Arabella's feet. The baby was crowning.

"One more good push, Bella! Come on, you can do it!" The baby slipped out easily, and Abigail caught it with the deftness of one at it all their lives. She had been trained well.

"It's a boy!" She cried, holding the wailing baby, a few pounds smaller then she would have liked, but healthy looking none-the-less, to show the mother.

"Bella?" Abigail handed the baby over to the nurse to wrap up, and went back to her sister.

"Name him...name him..." Her sister's voice was so weak now, and so pain riddled. Abigail cursed her brother-in-law for causing the distress to bring it on early. She grabbed fast to her sister's hand, holding tightly.

"No, Bella, please." She begged, more for herself then her new nephew. "Please, don't go on me! You are one of the only ones left who remember momma! You need to stay...to name your baby! To see him grow old and learn to use a sword, and go into the military, or become a rich and wealthy lawyer. Please, Bella."

"Name him Griffith. Please." With that final word, Arabella–the oldest of the seven children– became limp in her sister's arms. Her face in that instant before death, took on one of great relief, and soon, the light was snuffed from her gray eyes...the eyes of all the Hampton children. Abigail reached up with shaking fingers closed the eyes of her now late sister.

"Ma'am?" She turned around to see the maid, holding the freshly swaddled baby in her arms, holding it out to Abigail.

"Take it to the nursery. And fetch that wet nurse. I need to...tell the others." The maid nodded and went out the door to the adjoined nursery, and Abigail went out the one that leaded to the hallway.

It was dark now. The lamps lining the pale yellow walls all lit, giving the place a cherry atmosphere. Abigail loved the old house. With three stories, and an attic, it was perfect in her eyes. It had light oak wooden floors, and ancient Persian rugs that dated back centuries. There was always a crackling fire in the large fireplaces, and portraits of long gone ancestors lined the curved stairway. Situated a little out of Kingston on a large sugar plantation her father owned and operated with his eldest of sons who was only sixteen, and their few darkie slaves.

After the death of their mother, six years ago, and now the death of Arabella the house would be silent with mourning, and desperation.

Abigail wiped her hands on the already stained gown, smelling of the sickly sweet afterbirth, and looked around for her family members.

"Abbie?" Her father, Patrick Hampton rushed to her, an anxious and worried look deepening the worry lines already on his high forehead.

"It's a boy. Griffith. But...she...she didn't," At last the resolve of Abigail's broke, and she lunged herself into her fathers arms. Patrick knew what had happened, and quelled his second oldest, gently rocking back and forth, stroking her long raven hair that had come loose from its net holdings.

And so began the new year of Abigail Melody Hampton.


	2. The Melding of Minds

A/n: I have re-read Dragon Riders of Pern..and some of this is based on it. Not too much, but a bit. So...yeah...just a heads up. Oh, and for the moment, the chappies will be a bit short...but as the story goes, the longer they get...and more reviews help too.

Chapter two: The melding of minds

Jack Sparrow jumped from his seat, and went to examine the now unconscious girl. He checked her pulse at her neck. Where was it? Ah...there it was. Faint, but strong and steady. He straightened up, and faced her attacker.

The man Jack was facing was not handsome. Maybe when he was younger, but not anymore. Nearing fifty, he was tall, but starting to form a large robust belly from too many nights drinking. His dark hair, now peppered, was swept back in a desperate attempt at a younger look, but was thinning at the front. He wore a pair of leather riding chaps and a jacket. His boots, also suede, had his breeches neatly tucked into them. He was standing now, not as urgent as Jack had been, and looped his thumbs through the belt loops in his breeches. His face was screwed up in a scowl, that Jack had had the gust in defying the man, and checking on the girl.

Jack wasn't one for heroics, but he knew what it felt like being the underdog. But the smart side of his brain was nagging; _Look what happened with Elizabeth. You almost got yourself killed...too many times for comfort._

"I told you not to interfere, Sparrow." The man said, in a dangerous and low silky voice. Too low, and too soft. Like a snake hissing, yes...he was like a snake, Jack thought.

"Ah..but you see, in Pirates' Code..you shall not strike a lady. Its punishable by death." He swept a hand towards the still girl laying on the floor. Her light brown hair sweeping across her face. She would have a smart bruise.

"Thankfully, Im not a pirate."

"Ah!" The two men stood staring at each other. Jack Sparrow was said to be handsome. Which was odd for a pirate, as scurvy–something almost all pirates had, save for this one–tended to turn ones appeal down a notch. His clothes screamed oddity, and that's how he liked it. Black Bart Roberts had a flair, never being secretive, and that's who Jack secretly modeled himself after.

"The piracy is dying Sparrow. Jean Lafayette gave you all a bad name. Blackbeard...or Henry as his dear guardians called him..was the last of the best. You have been slowly on the incline for a while now. And the recent death of Roberts just proves how sickly sorry your hides really are." The man spat on the ground at Sparrow's feet.

They were in the large dining hall of Fax Hillinburg. Many of the other diners who lived in the small convent were in the dining hall, watching with large eyes as the master and his guest were about ready to battle it out. Both men stood at the ready, facing each other. While he had been speaking, Hill–as he was called by those who knew him– had moved out from behind the main table, and was about seven paces away from the pirate.

"That's where your wrong, mate." Jack said, giving a sardonic smile, his gold teeth flashing in the candle light.

"Piracy will forever be at large. Im not so sure about the whole swash swash buckle buckle thing...but there will _always_ be piracy," Jack's hand was slowly moving to the hilt of his cutlass, and when flesh touched metal, Hill's pistol was out in a flash.

"Poor Sparrow...odds against himself again."

"That's how I like, it really."

"Tell me," Hill started circling Jack slowly, eyes never leaving the thin and agile man. Jack rotated so as to keep Hill in plain view at all time. "How dose the miraculous Jack Sparra beat the odds with a pistol pointed at him, and his hilt in the sheath? I will answer myself...He doesn't." Jack gave a mirthless laugh, and like a lighting bolt, drew his sword and easily gutted the man. He was too stupid to start dialoguing, Jack thought wryly.

A few of the members of the hall started screaming...women. Jack, however, picked up the young drudge, and easily walked out of the dining hall without further incident.


	3. Walk Right In

Chapter three: Walk right in

Jack deposited the small figure onto his own bed, and made himself comfortable against one of the massive posts. Her calm face, more pretty then he would have known, and big eyes made him think of something, but he couldn't place it. A large bruise was forming on the side of her cheek where it had made connection with the stone floor.

Soon, after a few moments, her eyelids started fluttering, and she started at seeing Jack surveying her. He laughed when in a fit of desperation, she fell back off the bed, and scuttled to the corner, her long hair hanging over her face...not as pretty once more.

"Your name, girl." He said, standing up and walking towards her. She visibly shrank, and he stopped, confused.

"Hillinburg?" Jack sat upon his haunches, and looked this slight figure up and down.

"Dead. Your name, girl."

"I am Clara Sandiniti!" She rose, haughty, straightening out her back, and her head high. Still, Jack was confused. He stood also, but when he made to sweep the hair out of her face, she flinched, and took a step back.

"And that meaning?" She seemed crestfallen that he did not recognize her surname. Clara gave a small stretch, like someone slowly climbing back into their skeleton, and reached up, pulling her brown hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. The hair style was harsh, but she didn't care about her looks.

"My father was Antony Sandiniti. Perhaps you have heard of him?" Jack had to wrack his brains for a moment...Antony...? Ah...yes, Antony.

"The duke? I never knew he had children. If what you cry is true, then you are a very wealthy woman...wealthy indeed." Instantly, Clara did not like the situation. She looked around, and her heart sank when she saw that she was in a cabin, on a ship. A very large cabin by the looks of it. There was only one door, and if she made for an escape, this man would catch her.

"And you are?" She asked, trying not to sound desperate. If she stalled him long enough, then maybe...just maybe she had a chance.

"What? Oh yes. Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service." He gave a mocking bow, and when he rose, a ghost of a smile was on his lips. Clara instantly thought of a fox, lithe and cunning, though prone to stupidity at times. She had heard of this man before...then recognition hit hard.

"_You _were the one at the hall?" Jack raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

"_You _were the one who knew how to manipulate us all, weren't you? Very clever. If you were a nobody, I would claim you for my crew. As it were, I think there are other uses..much better." His voice was soft and silky, very convincing. He walked over to the door and opened it, calling out.

"Hey! Anyone out there? Yeah, you'll do, Parkinson. Come here." The man called Parkinson walked into the room, and Clara had the impression of dark hair, skin, and eyes.

"Yes?" He asked in a languid voice.

"Please escort our...guest to an open cabin. Lock it too." Clara made to run, but Parkinson caught her and hauled her out of the room, kicking and screaming.

Soon after, the ship's first mate, Michael Gibbs, came striding into the room, glancing back behind him at the trouble the youngest crew member was experiancing.

"Cap'n...?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. Jack gave him a once over, and sat down at his desk chair, kicking his feet up, and letting his head loll back.

"...what?" He asked when Gibbs still stood there.

"Who is that?"

"Clara." Once again, Gibbs did not make to leave. "If you're gunna stay there all day, then bring me something to drink. Rum. Well?"

"Please tell me that you aren't goin' to repeat our latest venture." Gibbs said wearily, making for the open door.

"You don't have to stay on the ship you know," Jack said rudely. "As it were, its not like Im keeping her like one would a stray pup."

"Very well. Oh, and I jest cant pick up and leave, Cap'n. I did sign the articles, and took the oath. If I left, you would be liable to shoot me."

"Exactly so."

"Im jest saying," Gibbs ducked out of the cabin as a piece of crumpled parchment came flying his way.


	4. Come Together

Chapter four: Come together

"I wont be gone long, I promise," Abigail vowed quietly to her eldest sister, Josephine. The younger girl looked up with woe-filled eyes, then back down at the wood on the docks of Kingston.

"Give father a kiss every night for me." Without saying anything more, Abigail–her heart and head heavy–walked up the gangplank and onto the large merchant ship, sailing her to England.

"Welcome aboard, Mrs. Hampton," the ship's first mate, Gregory, said eloquently, giving her a small bow. Abigail set down her small trunk, and looked at her surroundings. The ship was massive, but not out of the ordinary.

"Its Miss...Mr..?"

"Charelston. Let me show you to the cabin you will be inhabiting. I trust you will find not a better one aboard." She smiled at the young man, and followed him below.

* * *

"What the?" Abigail was literally thrown off her small bunk with a forcible blow to the starboard side of the ship.

_Boom_

There it was again, and this time, she was thrown across the room. She landed painfully on her trunk, which broke under her weight.

_Boom_

Those were cannons! She instantly knew the sound, picking herself off from the floor, and wrenching the door open to see the whole ship in a state of panic.

"Pirates," She heard a sailor mutter, as he quickly rushed by her, when she was headed up to the deck.

"Miss, I should think you want to stay below." Charelston said, rushing past her, one hand with a pistol, the other a sword. She ignored his heeding, and continued up the steps, blind curiosity taking affect.

She was instantly rallied. Pirates had swarmed the deck, and the crew were fighting for their lives.

"Ello, luv." Someone grabbed her from behind, and without a by-your-leave, swung over to the larger of the two ships.

"Who is that?" A man was striding towards them. _Must be the captain_, Abigail thought. She was set down, but the man who grabbed her kept his hands on her shoulders tightly. This had happened all so fast, her head spun.

"Dunno. But she was on deck, and I just plucked her clean off."

"Then take her into the same room as the other." Other? What other? Was there more captives?

"Sir...is that a good idea?"

"Just do it." Snapped the captain, and stalked off to survey the battle in his favor.

Big mistake.

* * *

Abigail was thrown neatly into a small cabin, landing on something soft.

"Oof. Geeoff me." It said, pushing at Abigail's back. She scrambled to her feet and got a good look at the person she had landed on.

It was a woman, most likely around her age, or younger. She had long brown dirty hair that hung around her face. But she was a slight little thing. In fact, if it weren't for her voice, Abigail would have thought her a child.

"Got you too, eh?" the woman asked, standing up.

"Excuse me?"

"Me name is Clara. The captain took me from my hall, and you are...?" Abigail shook her head slightly, and ran her fingers over the skirt of her gown, smoothing it out.

"Abigail Hampton. I was on the ship they were attacking." She looked around and saw a spider descending silky web, and blew on it lightly, sending the spider cascading across the room. After a few moments pause, Abigail reached into her dress pocket, and produced a small bottle filled with dark amber liquid.

"What's that?" Clara asked, eyeing the liquid uneasily. Abigail took out the stopper, and dropped three drops on her tongue.

"Its for...medical reasons." She could feel it coming on again, and she needed to lay down quick. Without asking the other woman, she laid out on the bunk, and fell into a deep sleep.

"Laudanum," Clara whispered. Suddenly, cannon fire ceased, and the door was thrown open.

"She's asleep?" Jack asked, incredulous. Clara nodded, and jerked her head to the small bottle still in the womans hands. He cursed, then took Clara by the wrist and propelled her up the set of stairs, and to his own cabin.

"I need your mind," He said in explanation as she glared at him. She rolled her eyes. They entered the large room, to see a table in the middle, with Gibbs, Parkinson, and Johnson sitting at it, two seats still unoccupied.

"Sit," Jack demanded, and Clara–shooting a look of wryness– sat. "Now...we have over ten hostages, including the _lovely_," he put an emphases on 'lovely' "Clara. We need to know exactly how to handle this." Parkinson shifted uneasily in his chair, not liking to openly discuss this with one of said hostages in the room.

"Need to use the lavatory?" Clara asked in the sweet tone which Jack was starting to realize as Clara at her worst. Parkinson shot her an avid glare, and turned his head, quelling all thoughts of strangling her.

"Exactly what are the statistics?" Johnson asked, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the silent feud.

"Well, two women, and eight men. Most of them are just merchant sailors. But we did manage to take the first mate." Gibbs answered for Jack.

"Aye." Jack agreed.

"Well, I say a hundred pieces of eight apiece." Parkinson said, his eyes blank.

"Men...honestly. Don't you know anything?" Spoke up Clara for the first time. She stood up, which caused massive discomfort, but made not a movement towards the cabin door.

"Apparently, if you are berating us, we don't." said Jack dryly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, I hate to have to explain it, I mean...its so simple,"

"But you will," Growled Jack, growing irritated. Clara shot him a hard look, but stopped needling the men none the less.

"Well...with me, per say...just one slip who I am...and they would be willing to throw all of Sandiniti's gold at you. Im sure, same goes for the opium addict sharing my room," There were a few inhalations and glances thrown about the room as the men shuffled around. "Her clothes were wealthy enough. The ship came from Kingston...best bet is to try there first. Now...the first mate. A lot can go for him. Same thing, sailed out of Kingston. Honestly," By this time she had walked around the oval table twice.

"And, per say, you are?" Parkinson spoke first.

"Clara Sandiniti. I was sure you would have collected that...I mean; 'Sandiniti's treasure', what dim lot you can be, even for pirates." Jack ignored the slight on his kind, but stood up, placing a rough hand on Clara's shoulder, and shoving her back down in her seat.

"Antony never had children," Gibbs scoffed, but was silenced at her fierce glare.

"Very well. I think the wench has a point." That awarded Johnson with the glare of Parkinson's.

"Well...I do hope I get some of the ransom?" The men only stared at Clara.


	5. Raised Eyebrows

Chapter five: Raised eyebrows.

"Did you have to go off and tell everyone?" Demanded Abigail, who's face was slightly pink.

"Not really, no." Clara smiled innocently. Jack was watching bemused, as the pair of captives left sat at the long galley table, bickering.

"Girls," He said warning, when they both seemed to want to kill each other. Abigail glared over at Jack, who merely shrugged.

"Don't 'girls' me, Sparrow," She snapped after staring at him long and hard. "Its her." She pointed a perfect little finger at Clara, who wanted to chop it off. She seriously thought about it...ok, she was planning to do it, but she could find nothing sharp enough.

"Just shut up!" Abigail closed her mouth at the captains roar, and looked slightly scared. She had been on this ruddy ship for almost a month, and it was starting to grate on her last nerve. All she wanted to was to go home, and curl up in her bed. That's it. It wasn't _that _hard, was it? Apparently so.

"Well maybe if you just let us go, we would–"

"Oh just shut it!" Clara and Jack yelled in unison. She glared at them both.

"Well, why did you call us down here then?" Clara asked Jack, turning from the frazzled woman.

"We are heading to Italy, dear one." He smiled at Clara, which caused her to frown. "Then, after we collect _your _ransom, we're off to Kingston for the lovely Abigail. Savvy?" Clara was chewing on the inside of her cheek, clearing thinking.

"Why not drop off Abigail first? We are certainly closer to Jamaica then Italy. And who said Italy in the first place?" Jack raised an eyebrow as Abigail let out a small delicate snort.

"Oh...so its not in Italy? With a name like Sandiniti, I should think it would be..._and_"–he said, pointing to the silently fuming other woman. –"she gets dropped off last because I say so. Bigger treasure first, love."

"You're a vile lot," Abigail said quietly, then got up leaving.

"Hey! Im a captive, just like you!" Clara called after her, but if the other woman heard it, she didn't answer back.

* * *

Jack looked around, and his eyes fell on the sight of Clara, sitting on the bulwark, her legs jutting out of the railing, and dangling freely. That damn girl was too much of a handful.

"The reason you are here, and not in the brig is...?" He walked up to her. She threw her head back all the way and looked at him upside down.

"Cause I didn't like it."

"You're not supposed to, idiot. How the hell did you get out?" She pulled from her drudges' skirt pocket the vile she had taken from Abigail, shook it lightly, and laughed.

"Oh, it was quite easy, really. The guard was snoring already. I picked the lock, gave him a few drops, and voila...here I am." She said it like it was a song.

"Here you are," Jack echoed, shaking his head. He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her up easily, banging her knees on the top railing.

"Ow!" She protested, writhing in his hands so, that he was forced to drop her. She stood up, and glared at him haughtily. He was quite a few inches taller then her, but she gave off the impression of looking down her long nose.

"Get back in the brig, or I will make you." He said simply, and watched her sulk down below, letting forth a scathing amount of curses.

"Parkinson? PLEASE go down there and help the other guard. Don't, however, fall asleep, or eat anything she offers you."

"That dead set on killing us?" Parkinson laughed at his own pun and followed the slight woman.

* * *

"Now what are you doing?" Abigail asked wearily, rubbing her temples.

"Fixin' a way to get out." Clara snickered, and set the piece of cheese outside the cell, in the pathway.

"Going to enlist the help of some rats?"

"Oh just be quite...Parkinson is coming back.

* * *

"That was brilliant."

"I know." The two women stood there, side by side, and looked down at the unconscious Parkinson.

"Who knew." Two days after she had put the hunk of cheese there, she retrieved it, though hard and uneatable, and waited for Parkinson to come back from the lavatory. Like she planned, the cheese left behind a considerable amount of grease, causing the young man to slip, fall, and become prostrate. It was great.

"Yeah...just think of all that you eat...just with cheese." Clara bent down and grabbed the keys from the man's pocket, just in her reach.

"The captain is gunna be pissed."

"So?"

"'so?' Are you kidding? He would probably beat you."

"He cant...he needs to keep us intact. Otherwise the price goes down." Abigail opened her mouth, then shut it, shrugging.

"You have a point."

"I always do."

Clara undid the lock and jauntily stepped over Parkinson, smiling.

"I think Im gunna have a bit of fun." She mock saluted Abigail, and walked out of the brig. Abigail sat back down on the bunk, and watched the silent form of Parkinson.

After a while, the ship's cat came ambling in, and walked around, sizing everything up. It jumped up onto Parkinson's back, and started kneading its claws. It woke him with a start.

"Wazzat?" He cried, jumping up, pulling a dagger from his belt and looking wildly around.

"A cat," Abigail said, trying hard not to laugh. Slowly, Parkinson relaxed, and even grinned sheepishly. He pulled over his chair–careful to avoid the grease–and sat outside of the cell.

"I take it the other wench is long gone? Thought so. No use goin' after her. She is her own woman." He leaned back in his chair, his long legs up on one of the bars, balancing him.

"What's your real name?" Abigail asked suddenly. He was quite for a moment, then looked over to her.

"Why?"

"Parkinson is more of a last name."

"Then call me Park, or Son..."

"I want your real name," He sighed, and then smiled.

"Just as stubborn as the other one. My real name is simply Joe."

"Short for Joseph?"

"Aye. But if you ever call me that, I will gut you."

"Ill take my chances...Joseph."


	6. Unleashed

Review, dammit!

Chapter six: Unleashed

Clara slowly sauntered onto the deck, feeling particularly better that day. After two more break outs, Jack finally gave up and put her and Abigail into the cabin they had first met in. Everyone was starting to warm up to the women, liking Clara for her bold as brass ways and defiance to their captain, and Abigail for her lady-like qualities and easy-going.

Clara would walk up to the pirates, and ask them questions. Sometimes serious, sometimes making them laugh until Jack would have to bark at them to get back to work. She was well liked throughout the whole crew. Except for one. His name was Dirk, and he couldn't stand the little thing.

To Dirk, Clara was the biggest nuisance that ever walked the earth. He hated her questions, and the way she walked around the ship like she owned it. But the in-depth reason why Dirk hated Clara, was due to the fact that she turned him down. No matter who you are, when someone takes a blow you your manhood, you tend not to take it in stride.

Dirk was not handsome. He wasn't by definition of homely either. Just in the middle. Tall, with a tuft of dark hair somewhat covering his eyes. He was muscular, and easily towered over the smart mouthed little bitch.

As Clara looked around for someone to bug, her eyes fell on the form of Dirk, who was tying off ropes; his eyes on her. She frowned. This was the only crew member to actually try and _come onto her_. It disgusted Clara to no end. Sex was something she preferred to avoid. Not at all costs, but she was inclined to decline when it came up.

Feeling particularly malicious, Clara swaggered over to Dirk, and gave him a reedy smile.

"Can you answer a question for me?" She asked, batting her eyelashes, and turning a shoulder. Most of the crew thought she was pretty enough, but they admitted that her nose was rather long, and if she would only keep her hair out of her eyes and her face; as well as keep her face clean, she would look a hell of a lot better. But Clara cared nought.

"Go away, wench," Dirk grunted, taking out his thing and wicked looking blade. Clara blinked, but Dirk simply took it to the ropes he was tying. She didn't move.

"Well...You see, only _you _can answer this question," She needled. Finally, Dirk threw down his work, and made to grab at the small girl. The crew that were on deck in the midmorning sunlight started to inch towards what would definitely be a fight. They knew that Clara would easily get pummeled if Dirk was allowed to touch her, and he had a thing for hitting women. His whores in Tortuga never escaped those ministrations.

Dirk placed both his large hands on Clara's neck, trying to squeeze the life out of her. She felt her feet being lifted off the deck, and dangle almost helplessly. Almost.

This was exactly what she wanted. She brought up her knee and it connected audibly with Dirk's how's your father, causing him to release her and fall to the floor. She fell unexpectedly on her leg, letting a gasp of pain through her lips. Dirk quickly recovered and grabbed her by her long hair.

"This is what happens to stupid little whores who say no to me," He spat, pulling her up again. Her one leg out of action, Clara lashed out at him with her nails, leaving large scrapes along his right cheek.

Then, in a fit of strength, she wrenched out of Dirk's grip, pulled her arm back and threw all her weight behind her fist. The sound of bone on bone was what finally motivated the rest of the crew to act.

Parkinson grabbed Clara up by the waist as she struggled to get back at Dirk; who had regained his footing. His face was oozing blood from the marks left by her nails, and before anyone else could stop or hold him back, he went up the confined Clara, and punched her.

She was out like a snuffed candle. Suddenly, Jack burst from his cabin, his face murderous. He ordered Dirk to be taken down to the brig, then he would be dropped off at the nearest island. No one objected, and a few felt rather relieved. He was giving the crew and pirates a bad name with whores, as well as made everyone uneasy. Sure, Clara needled him...that was what she was good at. But the crew knew there was nothing behind it, and found humor in her words. This man needed to go.

Jack then called for Parkinson who was still holding the unconscious Clara to bring her into his own cabin, and for someone to get Abigail who was the best nurse Jack had ever run into, or captured...either or.

Parkinson gently laid down the slight figure on Jack's chaise lounge, knowing better then putting her on the bed. When he stepped back, Abigail and Jack entered.

"Now what did she do?" Abigail asked, gently feeling Clara's face.

"Being her usual self. Only Dirk took it personally. The whole crew was shocked at how she managed him. I think his jaw is broken, and he will have scars for life with those nails. Serves him right," Parkinson muttered. Abigail shot him a look, then grabbed up a thing of salve from her bag. She rubbed it onto the places that would bruise, and it should bring down the swelling.

"You should have acted a bit faster," Jack said, frowning down. "She could have been seriously hurt." Both Abigail and Parkinson shot him strange wide eyed looked. "It lowers the ransom!" Jack exclaimed, then went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of his dirtiest rum.

It was the first time Abigail had been in the captain's cabin. Clara had been there a few times, and the first was when she ruled a senior crew meeting and set down the amount of money for their own bribes. The more Abigail got to know of this heiress with no want of the lifestyle, the more she liked and was confused by her. No matter. The cabin was large. The biggest Abigail had seen on a ship, and she had been on a few. The walls were whitewashed, and the adorns were a nautical blue color. He had a few plush velvet rugs thrown haphazardly around, and had a bed, instead of a bunk.

There was a large wardrobe that a few people could easily fit into; anchored to the same wall as the bed. A huge post office style desk was on the opposite wall, maps in most of the cubicles. Then there was the chaise lounge that Clara was on, also in the blue color. The huge bay windows on the final wall were thrown open to emit any breeze into the already cooled cabin. If Abigail had been in different situations, she would have wanted this cabin.

"What the?" Clara's eyes suddenly snapped open. As soon as she was awake, she let out gasp of pain.

"My leg!" She cried, trying to sit up and clutch it. Parkinson hurriedly held her down as Abigail bent low, pushed up her skirts and looked to see what was the matter.

"I think it's broken," She muttered, running lithe fingers over what was obviously a broken bone.

"Shit!" Jack stormed out of his own cabin. Abigail quickly pulled out a small vile from her bodice, when Parkinson went to help Jack go and locate things.

"Is that what I hope it is?" Clara gasped out, trying hard not to scream in pain. Abigail nodded.

"Open up," the raven haired woman said, and put a few drops on the other girls tongue. By the time that Jack and Parkinson came back, Clara was totally out of it.

"Passed out from the pain," Abigail shrugged, the vial hidden once more. She was almost out of the amber liquid, and that scared her slightly. Maybe she could pick some up in Italy when they went.

Jack produced two long and thin wooden boards. Almost blushing, the pirate captain motioned for Abigail to lift up Clara's skirts, and she complied. With a sickening sound, Parkinson set the leg, and strapped the two boards to it.

Jack watched, frowning slightly. He then realized something; this woman had nice legs. They were beautifully shaped...and bare. All women had hairy legs, it was a fact of life. Sometimes the really dark hair repulsed him, but lately he had seen a few of the richer whores with bare legs. Once he questioned his number one whore; April, about this. She told him how it was becoming a new thing to shave their legs. It sounded so absurd, that Jack laughed, until she showed him. All they did was take a man's straight razor used for facial hair to their legs. And when April did it once for him, he couldn't stop feeling them. It was a new sensation, and soon afterwards, he would even pay other whores(when April was not available) extra to "shave their legs".

Clara wasn't a whore, was she? She didn't exactly look like one, and she practically avoided sex like it was the plague. Jack wondered a few times if she had a bad experience, working a drudge/slave for the man who killed her father. And it wouldn't surprise him if that was the reason why she turned down the men on his crew, when she could have gotten paid.

"She should sleep in my bed tonight," Jack said, his face and mind void of anything.

"What?" Abigail asked, snapping her head up, and her grey eyes narrowing. Jack was glad that the women had become more comfortable, for various reasons. The main one being that he couldn't stand screaming hysterical women. In fact, he would be almost sore to see them go...but the thought of money would be great consolation.

"You two share a bed, do you not?" Parkinson came to Jack's rescue, shooting his captain a wry look behind Abigail's back "She should be able to stretch out, and keep her leg propped up."

"But...she's worse off on this thing!" Abigail kicked a leg of the chaise. Jack put a hand on her shoulder tightly, and frowned.

"I will sleep on _this thing_," He said, after staring her down a minute. She can have my bed. Its all our fault that we didn't stop her; we know how she can be with that tongue," The three chuckled, and after Parkinson easily deposited the limp Clara onto Jack's bed, and propped her leg with pillows, left.

Parkinson watched as Abigail strolled around the deck, smiling up in the sunlight. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her raven hair was in one long braid, and wrapped in a bun at the base of her neck. Her pale skin was coloring at being outside, and her upturned nose was just barely pink. She was wearing a gown from the trunk that they had managed to save from the wreckage of the ship they plucked her from; a pale green brocade with mother-of-pearl buttons, that made her pink cheeks and black hair stand out. And Parkinson admitted that he desired her. It was purely lust, he told himself easily.

Yet, as he looked over at Jack, who himself was looking at his cabin door with a trace of worry lining his brow, Parkinson knew he wasn't the only one smitten.


	7. Grumbles

**Finally! An update! this is basically a filler chapter, so don't shoot me, and I know its a tad on the shorter side of things.**

Chapter seven: Grumbles

Jack sat against the headboard of his four-poster bed, his arms folded across his chest, and his legs stretched out before him, crossed at his ankles. He silently commended himself for arranging the furniture(actually, Anamaria had done it begrudgingly with him telling her where to put the bulky things). Where he sat, he had the most perfect view of the comatose woman, splayed on his chaise lounge. Her long dirty hair fell from the edge, and dangled a foot from the floor, caught up by the sunlight shining through his open windows, making it more a golden hue. For once it was pushed out of her face, showing a large bruise forming on her cheek, half the size of Jamaica.

After a while, his eyes started to droop and soon he was asleep.

"Dammit! Where the hell is Abigail?" Jack started awake, sure he had told his crew not to bother him unless it was important. Surly looking for the proper woman wasn't that high up there on the list?

Ah...that was a female voice.

Clara! Jack's eyes snapped open and he saw the irate girl practically snarling at him, her face distorted in pain and irritation.

"Why do you need her?" Jack asked groggily, grinding the sleep from his eyes and throwing his feet over the edge of the bed, getting up.

"I just do!" Clara snapped. Jack frowned and walked out of his cabin, searching for the other stiff-upper-lip woman. He called around, searching the deck and down on the quarterdeck. He walked into the galley, but quickly walked out, hightailing it back into his cabin.

"Where the hell is she?" Clara screamed at Jack entered.

"She is ah...a bit...busy right now,"

"Well tell her its important!" Jack rolled his eyes, and turned back around, walking out onto the deck again.

"Gibbs!" Jack called, deciding not to going back into the galley.

"Aye?" The pepper-beared man called back.

"Go fetch Miss Abigail, I think she is in the galley,"

Snickering to himself, Jack walked back to the cabin, suddenly hearing a loud curse and something being smashed against the bulkhead. He had just sat down when an irate Abigail walked into the room, pushing a piece of hair from her blushing face.

"Yes?" She asked, out of breath with embarrassment.

"Jack, leave," Having nothing better then to do–at the risk of his head being bitten off by the girl in pain–Jack left...once again.

He loitered around the cabin door, lolling his head from side to side on the wood, making faces into his chest. A few crew members walked by without a second glance, then Abigail walked out of the cabin, snapping shut her bag.

"Next time, don't send someone to do your dirty work," She snarled, placing her face close to Jack's, her eyes livid.

"Whatever do you mean love?" Jack asked innocently.

"I mean, sending...oh never mind."

Abigail stormed off in a flurry, as Jack walked back _into_ his cabin.

Clara was once again asleep. And Jack thought he knew exactly how she had gotten into such a deep state, so fast. But he thought it would be for the best.

He walked over to the sleeping form, and set down on his haunches, peering curiously at her. Jack rarely got a good view of her face, because of the masses of brown hair. She had a long nose, and a rather sharp chin, but her features were smooth with the look of sleep.

With a tenderness he would never show, and was shocked at, Jack gently brushed a stand of hair from her face.

Disgusted with himself now, Jack shot up and made for his supply cupboard of rum. Yes, lots and lots of rum.

888

Abigail walked around the deck, in need of fresh air. She had been so flustered when Mr. Gibbs had walked in on her. The nerve of Jack! She silently fumed. Sending someone else to do his dirty work.

Footsteps sounded behind the woman and she turned sharply to see Parkinson grinning sheepishly.

"Oh, hullo," Abigail said rather flustered.

"Listen...uh before...well...I just wanna say that it...really meant nothing?"

Abigail blinked a few times. What? Did he just say what she thought he said? No...the bastard!

"Oh, sorry that you feel that way," She said regally, before giving him a hearty blow and storming off.

Parkinson stood in the scorned woman's wake, then shrugged. But something pulled at his conscience and he felt uneasy for the rest of the day.

888

They neared Italy, and would be there within the next fortnight. Clara slowly recovered, but her leg pained her greatly, and Jack fretted about the price of the ransom. Which would most likely go down once they saw the state the girl was in.

"I still don't see how you think we should go to Italy," Clara said easily one day while Jack was checking their course. Instead of looking up at her, he ran a finger along the small line he had made.

"And what makes you think that there is someone to buy my ransom?"

At that, Jack turned in his seat and gave her a rather wicked grin. "Whether you have family or not makes no matter to me, Miss. Sandiniti." He said, matching her cool demeanor. "But I am sure a pirate or two would like to buy you...and the small cut of the treasure that you demand. I really don't care as to who purchases you, Clara. The only thing that I care about is the money I receive in that transaction."

Clara opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Fine!" She stormed, struggling up from the chaise and grabbing the crutches that one of the crew members made for her. "Fine! If money is all you care for, that is what you'll get!"

"That's what I intended," Jack smiled. Clara shot him a murderous look before hobbling out of the cabin and slamming the door as best as she could behind her. Jack gave a low chuckle and turned back to the map.

She was such a strange girl, he conceded, and that was one reason why he really wanted to get rid of her.


End file.
